The Subject of Affection
by someonewhoneededhelp
Summary: Edward Masen is a man who's wealth is dwindling. Deciding to leave his crumbling business behind him, he makes home with family friend Renee Swan. He is doomed, however, when he meets her daughter Isabella, who is inappropriately younger than his wandering eyes. Rated M for lemons. OOC.
**AN: So, I wrote this story in small bouts of creativity. I could see small moments take place, and I'd write them down. Eventually though, I could see beyond those moments. A _lifetime._**

 **Some parts may be similar to those in _Lolita,_ but this is because after envisioning the plot of this older man and younger girl, I had to have _something_ to look at an example to. There aren't many similarities. Definitely not the same personalities. Edward isn't a pedophile, and Bella isn't his persuaded victim.**

 **The beginning is a bit lagging, so _please_ hang in there, _I promise it picks up the pace._**

* * *

Isabella, the sun to my day, the moon to my night. A burning fire in my heart, one that surely stuck me to the ground the moment my mongrel eyes absorbed her minuscule stature. _Isabella,_ of the Spanish and Italian name _Elizabeth,_ meaning 'God is my oath'. There was a Greek variation of her name as well, though I can't seem to recall it. As childhood melded into youthful responsibility, as she blossomed into the very exquisite creature that made my maturing body throb, I would whisper each of these to her.

With such innocence in those brown - flecked with gold - eyes of hers , she would only see the flaw in my calling of her. My beautiful Isabella, who desired to be known as the plain _Bells._ The nickname couldn't have possibly rung like a bell, not like its precursor. The name _Isabella_ was enchanting. It was hope during a long war. It was the ray of sunshine after a violent storm. It was the lord's prayer during a time of desperation. It was all of those things combined into one massive sphere of beauty that my mind had difficulty wrapping around after our first encounter.

When was our first encounter? Well, there were several, precisely timed events that led to that heart-stopping moment.

In the years of a closing millennium, I, Edward Anthony Masen Jr, was born in the seemingly nonexistent city of Alicante, Spain. I was born the son of Edward Masen Sr and Elizabeth Masen. My father was a complicated man; his face a fifteen puzzle. He was the heir to his parents - my grandparents - fortune. Though he never told me how much it summed out to, I assumed it was plenty considering he'd purchased several hotels and places of public gathering. Often hosting lavish parties with himself as the center of attention.

In the midst of his young adult years, he rebelliously married Bree Tanner. My father had this saying " _When a beautiful woman smiles, the world smiles back."_ I wouldn't remember this until I was a man of my own, with the proper vision to recognize the beauty that captured my Isabella.

Of course, after hearing of my father's eloping, my grandparents didn't accept his first love, and cast her away with the endless supply that money was theirs.

My father never smiled again.

They paired him with a much younger woman who was born into the same pool of wealth. This, ladies and gentlemen, was my mother, Elizabeth. She was a small thing, much like my Isabella. Everything about her was fragile; her voice, her grip, her gaze. I'm surprised my father did not break her on their wedding night - being the carnal man he was. Surpassing his rough nature, he had a general disliking for the child bride. She was eighteen, and he was nearing his mid thirties. Somewhere in this chaotic mess, I was conceived, and later pushed out of the small Elizabeth Masen.

As I had claimed before, my father never smiled after the departure of his one true love. So, at the birth of his first and only child, he simply nodded at my squawking infant self, and left the hospital. When I asked him about this as he told the story, my father claimed that I was the product of cowardice. That, if he had only been brave enough, would I never have been born.

And my frail, petite mother would not have died from complications.

There was a picture of her above my crib, and then above my bed as I aged. I wondered if I was even her son at all considering that we had no physical resemblance to each other. She was blonde, but I bore my father's copper locks. She was small, and already at the age of six was I more than half her size. Something in her eyes… I could find a semblance of myself in them. They were kind, intuitive, and cautious. Nothing like my father, who was brutish, distracted, and ignorant.

Some - if not most - nights, I would kiss her picture goodnight.

Already at the age of six was I growing tiresome of my life. There was no excitement. My father rarely let me leave the house to play with the other Spanish children, he claimed that the language barrier between us would prevent any sort of bonding. Perhaps the only socializing I got was when he had guests over. The dolled up women he hosted would compliment me on my developing looks and the amber shine of my eyes. Though, they never cared much for me after my father had his way with them. I was desperate for some form of attention. The maids were gentle with me. Yes, always gentle. But, they were _maids._ They cared for me as one would if they were getting paid for it. Where I wanted love and affection, they would only give me guidance. It was fake. It was cheap and plastic and I craved so much more.

That's when my father introduced me to a distant friend of his: Renee Swan. She had bright, innocent (yet somewhat exhausted) eyes. Those eyes would bring me back to that single picture of my deceased mother, and I had trouble distinguishing the two when she would kiss my wounds and sing me a lulling tune to sleep. Renee Swan was a warming sun that was refreshing after such a seemingly long dark night. Even now, I can recall how much a difference her maternal presence made in my dull life.

At the time of our getting to know each other, her stomach was rounded with child. Unlike the people of Alicante and Spain altogether, she spoke a warm English that my ears identified with. Her hair was a colorful brown that my child self was eager to caress; each time I did, she would blush an interesting shade of crimson. I'm sure that, at times, she would rather me play alone in my room than accompany her on her daily activities. But since her neglecting husband was out with my father, I was all she had.

"Is it a boy or girl?" I had asked her one day as she knitted blankets. Renee turned, hand over her stomach with a loving smile. Her cheeks were glowing with motherly affection as she touched her abdomen. The answer was so small, so soft out of her lips that I swore I had misheard her.

"Boy." Renee had said. I remember thinking to myself: _this was my chance!_ A boy, I wouldn't be alone! We could play catch out by the koi pond, and swing on the swing set as the sun set in Spain. This was, perhaps, the best news I had heard in the entirety of my small, adolescent life. I was no longer alone. My days of solitude were numbered. "I'm not sure how Riley will treat his younger brother. He's been so saddened by the news of his arrival." She sighed to herself.

"Riley?" I had repeated in confusion. "Who is Riley? You've never talked about a _Riley_ before." My adolescent face contorted into confusion. I watched her fingers dance around the fabric of blanket as she considered her response. _Just who was this man, and why did he disturb her so?_

Her cheeks had reddened to that lovely crimson before she answered me in that shy voice that amused me. "Ah. Riley is my first child. Such a problematic little thing…" Her blue eyes had drifted to some part of the room we were chatting in. "He's about your age. If not a few months older." My heart skipped without rhythm as my ears digested her words.

"My age… where is he? Why is he not with you?" I asked her. Renee held up the blanket - examining it. It was as though she were trying to repress the answer.

"Riley is a… troubled child," her eyelids closed heavily as she inhaled the warm Alicante air. I sat on the floor, legs crossed, with the utmost interest. Nothing, nothing at all could take me away from this intriguing back story. I personally had no experience with my mother, so to hear how sordid a relationship between mother and son could get was… new. "Long ago… Charlie - my husband - and I believed that we could not have children. That I was _barren._ We figured that it was a small bump in the road, that we could take in a child off of the streets, make the world a brighter place for a darkened soul." The smile she sported did not reach her eyes. "I supposed my husband picked out Riley because he looked so much like him. He sported the same chocolate eyes, the dark brown hair; he was practically a carbon copy of Charlie. The social worker told us that Riley's mother had been a… _working girl._ His mother had conceived him out of wedlock, and just tossed him away like he was - like he was trash the moment he was born!"

Renee had thick, warm tears roaming down the length of her face as she described Riley's birth. I didn't really known the extent of how saddened I should be by this poor boy's story because, after all, I was only _six_. She sniffled once more before continuing. "Oh Edward, I knew the moment I picked him up that something was horribly _wrong._ Riley… he looked at me like I was a servant, and he had absolutely no emotion in his gaze! Charlie never saw this, heck, even my _parents_ couldn't see the hatred brewing in that baby. As he aged, it was like he knew I wasn't his mother. He would call me by my first name, yet called Charlie _father._

" … sometimes, when I was _with_ my husband," she shook her head in disgust for the next words that would leave her mouth. "I would catch Riley _watching._ " Renee whispered. I had some clue as to what she was insinuating. Being the son of a notorious philanderer, there were many times when his _activities_ would echo throughout the hotel we resided in. _A pounding against a wall, women(s) crying out as the pounding continued until, after a few minutes of my father's roughness, would scream in joyous relief as if she'd been carrying the weight of the world on her narrow shoulders._ "He'd just stare at me from the adjacent bedroom door until we were finished." She shuddered.

"Is that why he isn't with you now: because he's in trouble?" I questioned in my childish voice.

Renee shook her head, clearing her throat so that she could pull more words out of her lips. "A few months ago, I found out that I was with child. I was over the moon about it! And, of course, so was Charlie. Perhaps the only person that didn't congratulate us over our new addition was Riley. The boy was absolutely _livid._ I'd never seen a child get so angry… his ivory face had turned the color of a ripened tomato, and he hit me! He attacked at my stomach until my surprised husband snatched him up and sent him to his room." I glanced at Renee stomach, grateful that it had grown into the prominence that was now. "The following weeks were tense to say the least. I don't want to sound as if I've lost my mind, but whenever the opportunity presented itself, the life of my unborn child was threatened. Whether it was an allergic reaction to peanuts, or a near trip down the stairs; I was always getting harmed! Eventually, the stress got to me… then Charlie proposed this lovely idea of going with him to his business affairs."

Her lips stopped moving. Only opening to let out a tired sigh. The beauty that I was so sure about became clouded by graying eyes and tangled curls. My heart thumped in anger. This woman didn't like where she was. It was supposed to be her escape from that wretched son, and still was she not impressed. She did not like Alicante. She did not like _me._

I stood up on my sturdy knees and left her a broken mess on that rocking chair. Renee didn't cry out for me, for if she did I would have ran back to her with a massive load of apologies spewing out of my lips. She let me run out of the room, knowing very well that I was angered by what she had said. _Damn the woman, damn her and her horrible family out of Alicante!_

My feet carried me to my bedroom, where I then slammed the door to an echoing shut.

"Would you care for more salt, Mr. Edward?" One of the servants asked me. She was a small thing. A teenaged daughter of a maid that apparently needed more of my father's money to survive. I shrugged my stiff shoulders. Pour it all on my meal, I didn't care one bit. The silence between the end of sentence was growing as I refused give a vocal response. "Sir-"

" _Edward Anthony._ " My father's growl moved across the table and smacked against my small, sensitive ears. I looked to see his hands placed against the white table sheet, fisting it in his red hands. Instinct told me to not look into his eyes, for they were sure to make me cry the moment I did. "When a servant asks you something, you _answer._ " I knew he was only screaming at me because this particular _servant_ was one that he had taken to his room and made various sounds with. "Is this understood?" His low voice screeched at the end of his sentence.

He was making a fool out of me in front of his company - Renee included. "Yes." I whispered. His throat cleared loudly. "Yes _father._ " I corrected quickly.

There was no doubt that there was a smug expression on his face. "Now, to your room."

This made me look into his eyes. They were a pride, rich amber. My jaw unhinged in shock. "Surely the boy knows his place now, Mr. Masen." A familiar voice argued. It was soft. Feminine. It was Renee.

"Ren, you don't know how stubborn this boy is. Leave me be." My father huffed, getting out of his place at the table and walking towards me. "Will you go to your room, or shall I escort you there?" I knew what that meant. Perhaps all our guests at the table did. If I was not going to heed my father's warning, there would be fresh welts on my skin by the morning sun.

I swallowed hard.

"No… father. I'll go to my room." My voice was pathetic. Childish. Though the latter was because I actually _was_ a child. A child whose cheeks were becoming wet with thick tears. My father rolled his eyes at my display of weakness. I turned my head, gazing at the people sat for dinner. The servant with the condiment still in her hand.

Fools.

I'm not sure how long I lay in my bed, hyperventilating and red faced, until someone came into my room. There was a large probability that it was my father, coming to beat me to sleep. To tell me that I was a disgrace of a heir. But it wasn't. Their footsteps were not heavy and dragging. They quickly crossed the distance of my small room and sat at the edge of my bed. Silent. Their hands played with the laces of my shoes, untying them and slipping them off of my feet. They pulled down my socks and when I still didn't respond to them, they began to tickle my feet until I let out a repressed squeal - immediately covering my mouth incase my outburst angered my father.

"What do you want." I huffed, sitting up and crossing my arms to face the woman who was once briefly my friend. The scowl left my face as I looked at the pie in her hand.

"I brought you dessert, I figured you'd be hungry."

And indeed I was, for my stomach rumbled for a good second before she handed me that slice of pie. I dug in, tasting sweet strawberries and a myriad of sugars. The crust dissolved on my tongue like cotton candy that one of our lowly chefs smuggled in for me. I moaned in relief from hunger, but stopped when Renee's face crinkled in a smile. "Something funny?" I asked around a mouthful of dessert.

She smiled strongly, patting her rounded stomach. "The baby… he likes your voice." The pie I was previously enjoying tasted bland in my mouth and I placed the plate at my side so that I could feel what was going on inside her body. Her stomach was quiet when I touched it. Nothing to experience. "Say something." Renee encouraged.

"Say what-"

And it was like thunder against my hands.

"Oh!" I chirped, which caused another punch against the flat of my palms. The baby already liked me… that was good. "Doesn't it hurt?" I asked.

"No. He's never been so active. Most of the time, he's so gentle when he moves. Like he doesn't want to disturb me. Just a little movement every now and then to let me know he's doing okay down there." She explained. The baby had calmed down a little, so I decided to speak hurriedly when she stopped talking.

"When are you going to have the baby?" The baby rewarded me with more kicks, which was a delight.

"Mid September. That's what the doctors are telling me." Hearing this prompted me to ask yet another question. She was most likely tiring of my curiosity, but this baby was going to be my future friend. Companion. I had to be there for him.

"Will you still be here?" Renee didn't respond. Not immediately, anyways. I pouted, feeling desperate. "Please?" I whimpered. She heard my sniffles and quickly gathered me on her lap - made small by her large stomach. "I know… I know I'm a burden. Father tells me so. But I promise I'll stay out of your way when you tell me too. Just don't leave me. Please don't leave me." Her thin fingers wiped the tears off of my ruddy cheeks.

"Edward… don't cry." Her voice croaked at the end of her sentence, causing heavy sobs to leave my mouth. My thick hand clung to her shoulder as she rocked me. "You're such a sweet boy. Everyone adores you- shhh." She silenced my wailing so that she could speak. "I promise you that I will not forget you. You'll meet this baby." She assured. My lower lip quivered, so she placed her fingertip on it. I looked up at her with blurred green eyes, feeling the baby kick at me from her stomach.

"Everyone lies to me. What if you are too?" I argued quietly.

"I'm not." Renee insisted. She took her hands off of me and reached around her neck, taking a golden chain off of it, then placed the heavy jewelry in my palm. "Keep it. I'll take it back when I return."

I clenched the golden chain, holding it to my chest. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

* * *

I'd almost forgotten about that day when about six years later, the police are at my door. To say that I hadn't dreamt about this was a lie. To say that I hadn't wished it would be an even bigger one. How many times I had wanted to be an orphan was unknown. Hundreds upon hundreds was the best guess. But here it was, in the form of somber looking authority and shiny badges. In droplets of rain sliding down my adolescent cheeks to appear as if I were crying.

Should I have been? Probably. He was my father. The only connection of familial blood that I had ever since the death of my grandparents. He was the man that took me home from the hospital after my mother's passing, and handed me to a servant for proper dressing. He was the basis of my discipline. The guidelines of a successful man. But was I crying after I'd been told of his passing?

No.

The policemen asked if I was alright, if there was someone who I could stay with for the night, but I corrected them, saying that I had no one.

And that was okay. I didn't need anyone. For seventeen years I had been functioning on my own without a single hand of emotional support. The hotel was occupied by dozens upon dozens of servants that were ordered to cater for my every physical need anyways. I was fine. I was perfect. I shooed them away when the asked if they could come inside. After my father's passing, I wished to be alone.

For celebratory reasons, of course.

Some of the staff - specifically the younger and prettier ones - wept at the news. They covered their faces with cotton gloves to absorb the falling tears. Edward Masen Sr. had certainly made an impact before his departure. Though I wasn't sure if it was a good one.

The maids asked if I would like my dessert after dinner - strawberry pie. Who was I to resist such an offer? I was told that it would be brought to my room once it was prepared. In the meantime, though, I sorted through my future's outcome. What would happen to me? Would they send me to an orphanage? No, I didn't like that possibility one bit. Sleeping in a cot, listening to the children sob for their recently deceased parents. I could never share their pain.

The days that followed my father's death were nothing short of a chore. I was to dress for his service. A black suit to fit the mood, when all I really wanted to do was wear colorful shirts and comfortable pants to mock him even in the grave. A piano man played songs of darkness next to where my father was placed. Edward Sr.'s picture was standing next to his closed coffin (he had been in a very nasty car accident). You could barely notice the smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. He had an ink pen in one hand, and a glass of golden liquor in the other that matched the color of his eyes.

Despite having a son, it was drinking and women that were his only pleasures.

"Oh, Edward," my great aunt sighed pitifully. "You poor thing." And then she left me after giving my cheeks a pinch. That was what most of the guests did at the service. Not one of them was going to graze the topic of taking me in. I understood. They were all too involved in their luxurious lives to take on the challenge that was my seventeen year old self.

"Whatever will become of you?" An old man said while shaking his head. "A pauper Masen. Great Heavens! _Disgrâce!"_ His heavy hand clapped me on the shoulder before leaving me to my own devices.

"Edward?" My ears prickled at the American accent. The chain around my neck grew to feel like ice on my burning skin. I didn't dare to turn my head for fear that if it wasn't Renee, I'd turn into a sobbing mess as I had once done. "Edward Masen."

Of course it was her.

Her stomach wasn't round anymore. She looked thin, her blue eyes a salty ocean. Her hair was straight. Her legs wobbling slightly when she approached me. "I'm so sorry for your loss." She whispered before pulling me into a tight hug.

I didn't hug her back.

I nearly snapped at her."What brings you to my father's service? Father would have yelled at me for being so curt to his rich friends. I half expected him to kick out of his coffin and do so. "You two haven't had a conversation in six years."

She bit her lip, placing her hands to her sides before she spoke again. "So is it true? You have no family to take you in?" My eyes bugged out of their sockets. I slowed my heart rate, not wanting to get excited.

"Yes, it's true, but I am seventeen. Old enough to look after myself. I need nobody, and nobody needs me." Renee was practically shocked by my declaration of independence. In this moment, I was just like my father. I was a cruel, emotionless, bastard. The part that made us identical was that I didn't care one bit about it. Her blue eyes were truly salty as tears poured out of them.

She barely responded. A whisper, "You've changed so much." I nodded. Indeed I had. No longer was I the lonely little boy she had left behind. I was a man. A selfish, selfish man who cared for no one. Not even for a woman who had nearly filled the hole his solitude had formed. I was no such thing.

Renee began to fish something out of her purse. In the end, it was a thin sheet of notebook paper with a series of number on it. Her writing was a series of loops under it. A sweet persuasion at the least.

I planned on throwing it away.

A soft explanation followed her actions."We always have room at the manor." I nodded again, my lips thinning as I pursued them together. The paper was warming in my hands. Soon sweat would smear the ink and there would be nothing left of my past self. My past naivety. "Don't ever think you aren't welcome, Edward."

Another nod.

"Please… don't-"

I finished her dragging sentence for her."Forget you?" Her head hung low, shameful. In truth, I had no right to snap at this aging woman. She had arrived to offer me a place to stay in my faux grief, and here I stand, behaving my curtest to her.

"Don't _isolate_ yourself. Don't turn into _him_."

Out of the sentences that would bring forth a genuine response from me, she chose that one to make an exit. Leaving me. Just as everyone else did hours later.

* * *

"Here's your mail, sir." A parlor maid whispered as she handed me a stack of envelopes. I shooed her away afterwards, as if she were going to stay with me. I hated mail. _Bills upon bills that needed to be paid._ Don't let this fool you, ladies and gentlemen, I had the money. Giving it away, however, was no pleasure of mine. I'd rather spend in on scotch than give into this dying city which I grew bored of day in and day out. Especially since the amount of people venturing to Alicante was dwindling.

I hissed, "Dammit." A thin ribbon of blood left my index finger as one of the envelopes had sliced through my skin. I read the package. _Denali,_ it said in fine cursive. _Denali?_ I knew of no such people. They weren't my landlords…

 _Dear Mr. Masen._

 _My name is Eleazar Denali, and I come at you with the request…_

I stopped right there. Eleazar. I'd heard that name before. It was crammed somewhere between my father's words and the chairs of our dining room table. Eleazar Denali knew my father.

I continued.

… _daughter Tanya._

The familiarity grew. Tanya Denali. She was the easiest of her family. Known throughout the wealthy world of mine for her face of gold and moral of a street walker. Anything concerning Tanya Denali was to result in a happy ending… one way or another. The rest of the letter detailed that Tanya Denali was in desperate need of a college tutor. Poor thing had probably slept her way through her education and now she was met with a celibate teacher.

I chuckled.

Now, I wasn't the smartest guy, not even close, but in the small community of billionaires, yes I was. Being that I studied so tenaciously and worked my way through the highest of schools, it was no wonder that Eleazar Denali had come to me, begging me to smarten his illiterate Tanya. Normally I wouldn't have even replied to such a desperate letter, but the Denali's had a key element in my decision making.

Money.

Lots and lots of it. Which, in turn, solved my growing economic problem.

I called in one of my partners, telling him that he'd have to watch the hotel for the next few weeks. Stay in the penthouse while I ventured with Tanya Denali. Educated her in many things. Both mentally and physically. He was concerned that I was, perhaps, rushing into this, that I had other priorities. Though I couldn't care less about them.

America was a place I hadn't been to in awhile, not since I had been a young child. New York was chilly. Damp. Cloudy. Everything Alicante wasn't. _Do it for the money,_ I encouraged. This helped a little.

When I arrived at the manor… or where it was _supposed to be,_ I was in complete shock. Ashes scattered in the wind, making the sky impossibly duller. I turned around to my chauffeur, and he wore the same shocked expression as well. Particles of dirt and dust traveled into my airways which caused an immediate sneeze. _What the hell had happened here?!_

My phone began to vibrate.

"Edward! Oh thank goodness you answered!" I informed Mr. Denali of my arrival, prompting him to apologize swiftly. "I'm so sorry, but the manor has… been reduced to rubble. We've decided to move across the country, where the money is abundant…" I asked him about Tanya. "Oh! She's staying with her older sister in…"

 _Italy?_

I ended my conversation with Eleazar telling me he'd pay for my flights and cab fare. Another night on an airplane. Another night of restless sleep, listening to people talk and talk. It was all very tiring. Nothing like my comfortable solitude. I stood on what had previously been Denali property, not knowing whether to call Eleazar back and curse his open-legged daughter for putting me in this station, or collapse onto the lot and sob until I had nothing left to give.

I did neither. Instead, I got back into the car, gave the chauffer an address that I had thought was long forgotten from my memory. Perhaps she knew that this day would come, when I needed her, which, of course, made me scowl. My fists were in a constant state of firmness, ready to bash something to bits. I was mad. No, I wasn't mad.

Enraged was a more fitting term.

* * *

The reunion wasn't pleasant. In her terms, it was probably a blessed surprise that I had arrived at her gates, closed fists in my pockets, head down in defeat. She hugged me, crying and wetting the expensive material of my leather jacket.

Not that it already wasn't wet. Why Renee chose to reside in Forks was a mystery to me. There were places much better. Much warmer, drier. _Sunnier._ Since my arrival a few hours ago, the small town had been under a constant blankets of clouds. Normally, the sun would be easily spotted. A bright orb that'd make the dark sky dull. It was different in Forks. The brightness was a boring, even tone. Nothing wince at, but nothing to open your windows to either.

"Edward, oh Edward." Renee sobbed as she clinged to me. My shoulders remained stiff. Unkind. She knew this part of me, though. It was no secret that I was as cold as her damp driveway. The only reason she was grinning through her tears and not frowning was that my green eyes were wet with defeat.

She pulled away from me, wiping her lashes before ushering me past the gates and into the manor.

Renee beamed at me. "You'll love it here, Edward, I know you will." I had yet to say something to her. My attention was focused at dusty window sills, flickering bulbs in a chandelier, wilting flowers that stood dying in a vase. As rich as she was, I was surprised that she hadn't made the place look much more lively like herself. It was morbid.

But, then again, so was I.

"There's a guest room that _just so happens_ to be right next to Bells' room," she chattered on. _Bells?_ Was she referring to the instrument…? "Oh, and our servants are a bit busy today, so if you need anything, she'll be there to wait on you." My brows pursed together. So _Bells_ was a human and not some metallic instrument. Was she a live-in maid? My thoughts were interrupted when Renee cupped her hands around her rouged lips and shouted at the large staircase. " _Bells! Come down here! We have company!"_

My ears picked up on the pausing of music I didn't even know was playing. Footsteps started towards the stairs, dragging but weightless. A few times I swore I heard the person stumble. Renee commented on _Bells_ being so clumsy. I nodded, not knowing how else to respond. However, there wouldn't have been anyway too, for a few seconds after Renee had muttered her passive insult, I watched with rapt attention as the notorious _Bells_ came sauntering down the carpeted steps.

Her shoulders were bare, covered in goosebumps, but it was obvious that she had grown accustomed to the uncomfortable weather. The way the light shined off of her collarbones, her heart-shaped face was nearly blinding to my pupils. Her chest was hidden from my perversion by floral patterns that reached down to the tops of her wobbly knees. The perfect shape of her brows pressed against one another, confusion imminent on her face. Chocolate brown eyes were briefly shielded by quick blinks, as if she had been taken aback by the unfamiliarity of my presence. It registered that this was to be her first impression of me. What she'd think before she lay her head to rest, scribbled down in her diary, or chatted amongst her gal friends. So, for the first time in seventeen years - since my childish faith had been sucked dry - I attempted to mimic my dead father's stance.

My back straightened, shoulders broadened, and I made sure that my face wasn't to serious, mocking the faint smile my father had flashed at his funeral service. Bells blinked at me once more, then turned to face her mother.

"Who's he?" The response sounded a bit rough, like the speech of her teenaged peers, but I did not mind. Her voice was as her name had suggested - a bell.

Renee huffed. " _He,_ is Edward, and he'll be staying with us." Bells looked between her mother and I, shrugged stiffly, then clumsily made her way past us. Renee muttered something about the girl before continuing our tour of the house despite my heightened lack of interest. I couldn't stop Bells face from repeating itself in my thoughts, incinerating everything else like the ashes of the Denali manor. My heart was beating rapidly, quicker than a prized race horse. Hands aching to touch the light that bounced off of her-

"I hope you don't mind Isabella. She can be such an unpleasant soul sometimes." She paused, then glanced through the window to where you could see the tops of large pine trees. "Isn't the view lovely?"

I thought of _Isabella_ again. "Yes," I agreed quickly. "Lovely indeed!"

* * *

 **AN: Please leave a review, tell me what you think of the first chapter!**


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